


Di, Lock and Three Smoking Garridebs

by YouWereWorried (uniquethinker)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquethinker/pseuds/YouWereWorried
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a visit from old schoolmate Diana Berrigan. Her week free of the FBI doesn’t turn out as relaxing as she planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Di, Lock and Three Smoking Garridebs

**Author's Note:**

> Set between season one and two of "White Collar" and episode two and three of "Sherlock"  
> Borrows heavily from ACD canon story "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs"

          John stood next to the counter pouring a cup of tea.

          Sherlock bent over the kitchen table and let one drop fall from a pipet onto a petri dish. The dish began to glow.

          His phone beeped.

          “John!” Sherlock yelled.

          “No need to shout.” John set a cup of tea next to the dish.

          “Get my phone,” Sherlock ordered.

          John sighed and crossed his arms. “Where is it?”

          Sherlock added a drop of something else and the dish began to smoke.

          John picked up the fire extinguisher from the wall and placed it on the table within optimum grabbing distance.

          Sherlock’s phone beeped again. “Phone, John.”

          “Where is it?” John took another sip of tea waiting for an answer.

          “Under the skull,” Sherlock finally said. “Read it.”

          He read:

                   Coming to London for a

                   week starting tomorrow.

                   Are you free and sober?

                   Di

          “Reply, ‘Yes and yes. You can have my bed.  – Lock’.”

          John typed out the message and hit send. After a moment he asked, “Lock?”

          “Diminutive of Sherlock. Surely that must be obvious even to you.”

          “Right.” John waited. He said, “This a…friend of yours, is it?”

          “Friend,” Sherlock said. “Yes.”

          “Who’ll be using your bed?”

          “Mhm,” hummed Sherlock distractedly. “I’ve the sofa.”

          “You’ve just invited a friend over,” said John, “for a week?”

          Sherlock looked up and narrowed his eyes at John. “Problem?”

          John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You might’ve asked if I minded.”

          “Tedious.” Sherlock sighed. “If you had, you wouldn’t have sent the text.”

          The phone beeped again.

          Before Sherlock could ask, John read aloud:

                   Thanks, but my pajamas

                   aren’t biohazard safe.

                   Di

          John laughed. “She’s funny.”

          Sherlock shook his head. “Say: ‘That was one time ages ago, and this is a different mattress. – Lock’.”

          The next text read:

                   Change the sheets.

                   Di

          Sherlock made a dismissive sound.

          John finished his tea in the living room reading the paper. Then his phone sounded.

          The message from an unknown number was:

                   Do make sure he

                   changes the sheets,

                   please, Dr. Watson.

                   Diana Berrigan

          He replied:

                   Call me John. How’d

                   you get this number?

                   JW

          The answer:

                   I asked Mike.

                   DB

          John tapped his phone against the side of his chair before asking:

                   Mike Stamford?

                   JW

          A few seconds later:

                   No, sorry. Mycroft.

                   DB

          John leaned his head back to call into the kitchen, “She calls your brother Mike?”

          “He hates it.” Sherlock smiled at the smoking petri dish.

          It burst into flames. He said, “John, where’s the –”

          “Beside you.”

          Sherlock picked up the extinguisher and doused the experiment in white foam.

          He left the smouldering mess and dropped onto the couch.

          John moved his phone behind the paper.

          “You’re still talking about me,” Sherlock said sitting up. “Stop talking about me.”

          John pressed send:

                   We’re to stop talking

                   about him. He caught

                   the kitchen on fire.

                   JW

          Sherlock’s phone beeped from its new place on the coffee table. John grabbed it.

          “That’s mine,” said Sherlock.

          John read aloud:

                   Still blowing things up?

                   Di

          John raised a questioning eyebrow. Sherlock sniffed and sunk back into the couch.

#

          Diana walked out of the terminal. She stood in the pick-up area looking at the changing row of cabs and rental cars.

          The woman whose name was not Anthea stepped in front of her.

          “Agent Berrigan?” the woman said. “You’re to come with me.”

          Diana followed her to a waiting chauffeured car.

          They both climbed in the back, Diana setting her bag by her feet.

          The car stopped inside an empty warehouse.

          “We’re here,” not-Anthea said.

          “Obviously.” Diana smiled and got out.

          Mycroft stood a distance away leaning on his umbrella.

          Diana walked up to him and stood with her hands casually slung into her trouser pockets.

          She smiled. “Mike.”

          Mycroft’s lips tightened. “Agent Berrigan.”

          “Thanks for upgrading my flight.”

          Mycroft swung his umbrella to the side and studied the tip. He said, “It’s the least you deserve for your service to my country.”

          “Your country?” Diana asked.

          “We both know the dangers an unoccupied Sherlock poses.” Mycroft shrugged. “You made his childhood significantly more interesting.”

          Diana raised an eyebrow. “Despite everything, you still underestimate him,” she said. “Comforting how some things never change.”

          “Indeed?” Mycroft said. “You’ll have private access to the firing range and gym while you’re here.”

          Diana said, “Please don’t disturb your exercise regimen on my account.”

          “You’ll enjoy target practice with Dr Watson,” Mycroft continued unperturbed. “He’s a crack shot.”

          “Indeed?” she mirrored with a quirking lip. “How very interesting.”

#

          John came in from the shops. He dropped a bag on Sherlock’s stomach where he slept on the couch.

          Sherlock opened his eyes with a huff. He opened the bag to reveal a package of folded white. “Unnecessary,” he said. “I do own sheets.”

          “Promised Diana,” John called from the kitchen. He looked at the table, now clear of foam. “I see Mrs Hudson cleaned up your latest.”

          “Excellent deduction,” Sherlock snapped.

          John walked back into the room and leaned against his chair. “Isn’t it time you went to the airport?”

          “She’s a grown woman, she can manage a cab,” Sherlock said. “Besides, I’m she’ll be waylaid by Mycroft for at least a half hour.”

          “Good, then,” John said. “You’ve time to make your bed.”

          “Do I?” Sherlock said.

          Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and then a knock on their door.

          John looked at Sherlock who shrugged with feigned innocence.

John opened the door.

          A short muscular man stood in the doorway. “Mr Sherlock Holmes?” he said with a soft American accent and a wide smile.

          “I’m Mr Holmes,” Sherlock said suddenly standing behind John. “This is Dr Watson.”

          “How do you do?” The American stepped inside. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr Holmes, but your landlady said I could come on up. I’m Jack –”

          “Garrideb. Yes, I know.” Sherlock said. “I did receive Nathan’s email. What I don’t know is why you and not he are here to see me.”

          “He shouldn’t have contacted you at all,” said Jack angrily. “It’s a personal matter and there’s no need for a private detective.”

          “Consulting detective,” Sherlock corrected. “I fail to see what your problem is. Nathan wants as you do, help finding someone and that is one of the many areas in which I excel.”

          Jack hesitated. “You aren’t questioning the legality of the will?”

          “No,” Sherlock sounded bored.

          “Nor bringing in the police?”

          “Hardly necessary.”

          “Well.” Jack smiled brightly. “That’s all right then.”

          “Sit down and tell Dr Watson the facts of the case,” said Sherlock. “I’ll makes us all some tea.”

          John stared at Sherlock with widened eyes.

          “That is, if you don’t mind taking notes, John.”

          “I just didn’t realize you were capable of making tea without causing an explosion,” John said.

He sat down across from Mr Garrideb and drew out a notepad.

          “He’s joking,” said Sherlock as he swept into the kitchen.

          “Oh.” Jack turned his focus to John. “It started in Kansas,” he said. “That’s where I’m from, Topeka. If you were from the area, you’d know the name Alex Garrideb. Time was he owned almost all of it.”

          John noted down the name and place.

          “Alex was an odd man with no family or close friends,” Jack continued. “He came to me because we shared a last name. Said he wanted me to find him all the Garridebs I could.”

          John kept looking over his shoulder into the kitchen where Sherlock was supposedly making tea.

          “Now, I’m a lawyer in Topeka with a successful practice,” said Jack. “So, I told him I couldn’t abandon it all. Not for a scavenger hunt with no good reason. He said he’d find me one.”

          Jack paused until John nodded to show he was listening.

          “A few months later, he died and I found out he’d left me a third of all his property. However, it all hinged on me finding two other adult males with the last name Garrideb. Then we would all split his estate worth almost a billion dollars. But I couldn’t find any other Garridebs, at least not in the US.”

          “So you came here?” said John.

          “Yes and I found Nathan Garrideb. The problem is he, like I, has no living relations nor knows anyone by the name.”

          Sherlock placed a tea tray on the coffee table and sat down in his chair. He waved a hand across the tray at Jack. “Help yourself.”

          John stared at the teapot as he asked, “You’ve searched online?”

          “First thing I tried,” said Jack. He had no compunctions about the tea and fixed himself a cup.

          “This is fairly interesting,” Sherlock said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

          “Thank you,” said Jack.

          “You’re from Topeka,” Sherlock said.

          “That’s right.”

          “A friend of my father used to be mayor there several years ago, a Dr Starr? Long dead now of course.”

          “Yes. Dr Starr. His help to the community is still missed.” Jack stood up. “I should go. Thanks for the tea.”

          Sherlock had sunk back into his seat with his hands pressed together under his chin.

          “You’re welcome,” John said for him. “I’ll show you out.”

#

          John walked back in the room to find Sherlock at the kitchen table dusting Jack’s teacup for fingerprints.

  

  1.           “That’s the Mystery of the Tea-Making Flatmate solved, then,” said John.    “You didn’t really know a Dr Starr from Topeka, did you?”
  



          “Really, John, you’re progressing wonderfully,” said Sherlock. “Pass me the laptop will you?”

          “Where?”

          “End of the table.”

          “This is mine,” John complained as he handed over his computer.

          “Clearly, the man was lying, but why?” Sherlock finished with the cup and started typing. “There’s no record of an Alex Garrideb from Topeka, Kansas. No trace of Jack Garrideb the lawyer either. And while the name is unusual, a simple search brings up a few supposedly genuine Garridebs living in America.”

          “Right,” said John. “So this is some kind of…what? Fraud?”

          “Perhaps,” said Sherlock. “I was going to turn down Nathan’s case, but it’s far too interesting. I’ll make an appointment. We’ll talk to him this afternoon.”

          “Aren’t you forgetting something?” said John.

          “Doubtful.”

          “Your friend Diana is coming,” said John. “You told her you didn’t have any cases on.”

          “I didn’t when she asked,” Sherlock picked up his phone.

          “Sherlock,” John warned.

          “Fine,” he set down the phone. “Tomorrow, then.”

          “That’s not what I meant,” said John.

          “Oh, this is perfect,” Sherlock said. “I need an American perspective on this.”

          “Diana’s American?” asked John.

          “Didn’t you note her spelling of ‘pajamas’?” asked Sherlock. “Obvious.”

          “Of course it is,” said John.

          “And she can run these prints.” Sherlock closed the laptop forcefully. “Mycroft’s made his firewalls so tedious.”

          “Hang on.” John pulled the computer away from him to safety. “You hacked government files on my computer?”

          “Yes,” said Sherlock.

          John closed his eyes and pursed his lips. “Am I going to be arrested?”

          Sherlock paused to consider his answer. “No,” he said. “Even if the authorities realized such an attempt had been made, which is unlikely, not even Anderson would think you capable of high level decryption.”

          John sighed. “That’s good, I guess. Wait,” he said. “Is Diana some kind of cybercriminal genius, then?”

          “No, she’s an FBI agent,” Sherlock pushed his chair back from the table. “And she’s at the door.”

          The doorbell rang. “How did you–”  
          “Sound shift in traffic patterns. Obviously a stopped car and Mycroft’s vehicles are significantly quieter than the average cab.” Sherlock walked into his bedroom.

          “You can hear traffic patterns?” John said after him.

          “Can’t you?” Sherlock called back.

#

          Mrs Hudson opened the door.

          “Hello, dear,” the landlady said to the visitor. “Can I help you?”

          “You must be Mrs Hudson.” Diana stuck out her hand. “I’m Diana Berrigan, a school friend of Lock’s.”

          “Oh yes, Dr Watson told me you were coming.” They shook hands and Mrs Hudson waved her in. “He didn’t say you were American. I used to live in Florida, you know. It’s so humid there.”

          Diana smiled. “I’ve heard that.”

          John stepped off the bottom step.

          “John,” Diana said in greeting.

          “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’ll show her up, Mrs Hudson.”

          Mrs Hudson nodded but followed anyway.

          “I can take your bag,” John offered.

          “No, thanks,” Diana said. “I’ve got it. Which one is Lock’s room?”

          Mrs Hudson raised her eyebrows and looked back and forth between Diana and John. “Are you and Sherlock…” she trailed off delicately.

          Diana laughed. “Oh, God, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “No, no, no.”

          Sherlock came out of his room and dumped an armful of linens in the hallway. “Don’t let Mummy hear you say that,” he said walking towards them. “She still thinks I’m pining for you.”

          Diana swung her suitcase up in front of her and threw it at Sherlock. He leant to the side. It sailed past him through the doorway sounding like it landed on the mattress.

          “You really should be more respectful of other people’s property,” Sherlock said.

          Diana hugged him.

          Mrs Hudson stared.

          John said, “Tea?”

#

          Mrs Hudson had left, and Diana, Sherlock and John sat around the kitchen table.

          “Do you have a picture of him?” she asked.

          John shook his head.

          Sherlock said, “Yes.”

          “When did you take a picture?” asked John

          “Making tea hardly takes my full concentration.”

          Diana froze. “You made tea?”

          John laughed.

          “I needed his prints.” Sherlock waved a hand at the resulting scanned in images on Diana’s laptop. “Why does everyone assume me incapable of basic tasks?”

          “Because you never do them,” Diana said.

          Sherlock set a phone on the table in front of her. “Here’s the picture.”

          John patted his pockets before complaining, “That’s my phone!”

          “It was closest,” said Sherlock.

          “And you just thought you’d hang onto it, did you?” asked John.

          “I don’t recognize him,” Diana said pushing the phone across the table and returning to the finger print database. “You’ve a text from someone named Sarah.”

          “Sherlock!” said John.

          “It wasn’t anything important,” said Sherlock. “Probably.”

          “Shut up, both of you.” Diana pulled out her own mobile. “Security level’s too high,” she said. “I’ll have to make a call.”

          John and Sherlock quieted but continued to glare at each other.

#

          Peter had just walked into his office for the morning when his phone rang. He checked the display and answered, “Diana?”

          “Hi, boss,” she said.

          “Anything wrong?” He sat behind his desk.

          “No, I’m fine,” she said. “I was wondering if you could run a print for me.”

          “You get permission to carry a gun out of the country, you ask me to run a print and you still maintain this is a vacation?”

          “What’d you expect I’d do,” said Diana, “curl up next to a pool with a book?”

          “I could hope,” said Peter. “Why can’t you run it yourself?”

          “I don’t have clearance.”

          “If you’re in some kind of trouble…” said Peter.

          “I’m helping out a friend, a detective,” she said. “You know how long international communication takes through proper channels. By the time we get the paper work, our guy could be gone.”

          Peter drummed his fingers on the desk in thought. “You will tell me if you’re in danger,” he insisted.

          “Yes, boss.”

          “Fine, I’ll run it,” said Peter relaxing now into his seat, “but you owe me.”

          Diana laughed. “This doesn’t come close to making us even.”

          Peter smiled, “Come on. Give me the illusion of control.”

          “The prints and picture should be in your inbox,” said Diana.

          Peter laughed and hung up the phone.

#

          “Angelo!” Diana said as they walked through the door.

          He grabbed in her up in a big hug. “It’s been too long,” Angelo said. “So glad you’re back. I’ll make that risotto you like.”

          “You don’t have –”

          “Course I do,” Angelo said. He pulled out a chair for Diana. “You three sit right here. Usual John?”

          “Yes, thanks.”

          “You eating, Sherlock?” Angelo asked.

          “He is as long as I’m here,” said Diana.  
          “Di!” Sherlock whined.

          “Don’t be such a toddler,” Diana said. “He’ll have the spaghetti.”

          Angelo patted her shoulder. “It’s good to have you home.”

          “I’m just visiting,” said Diana.

          “At least he’s not alone anymore,” said Angelo looking pointedly at John.

          “I’m not…” John started but Angelo had already walked away. He turned to Diana. “You know we’re not –”

          “I get it,” said Diana. “I’ve been thought Lock’s girlfriend lots of times.”

          “Didn’t you say your mum thought so?” John asked Sherlock.

          “My mother doesn’t understand my not wanting a significant other,” Sherlock said. “When I was a teenager, she said it was ‘most unhealthy,’ so Di covered for me.”

          “Then we pretended I broke his heart, so he’d have an excuse not to date.”

          “So you’ve known each other a long time, then,” said John.

          “Twenty some years now,” Diana said. “Of course I haven’t seen Lock for more than half of that.”

          “We were at primary together,” Sherlock added.

          “My dad worked at the embassy,” she explained. “But the last time I visited was right before I started college,” said Diana. “I think he might have deleted me if I hadn’t said I’d have access to FBI files.”

          “Don’t tempt me,” Sherlock said.

          “Do you have a boyfriend, then?” asked John.

          Sherlock sighed. “Is it this table that makes you ask inane questions?”

          “It’s fine, Lock. I have a girlfriend, Christie,” said Diana. “She’s a doctor too, actually. We just moved back to New York from DC after –”

          “Ugh,” Sherlock moaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Please tell me we aren’t sliding into small talk.”

          Diana rolled her eyes. “I hear you’re a good shot,” she said to John.

          John stopped smiling. “Did Sherlock tell you that?”

          “Yes, John,” Sherlock spoke from behind his hands, “I make a habit of flaunting your illegal behaviour.”

          “Mike mentioned it when he said I could use the range,” Diana said. “We should target practice. I’d love to see if Lock’s aim has improved.”

          “I am perfectly competent with a firearm,” said Sherlock. “You just happen to be ridiculously talented.”

          “I’ll try to tone it down then,” said Diana. “I know how annoying genius can be.”

#

          A door to a closed shop, an elevator underground and they stood in a state of the shooting gallery.

          “Why didn’t you tell me your brother had a private firing range?” asked John.

          “Assume Mycroft has a private everything.”

          “We could make a wager,” said Diana as she checked her gun. “Keep things interesting.”

          “I’m game,” said John.

          “Do not encourage him.” Sherlock tapped the gun against his leg distractedly. “Mrs Hudson will not be happy if you gamble away the rent.”

          “Put the safety on,” warned John.

          “Fine, no bets,” Diana said.

          They pulled up new targets and fired.

          Diana’s bullets clustered around the outlined head, John’s around the heart.

          “All head shots?” John asked as Sherlock grumbled about his gun being poorly calibrated. “That how the FBI works?”

          “No.” Diana said with a smile. “That’s just me. Even the bad guys have vests these days.”

          “And she has a thing for shooting kneecaps,” Sherlock called, “and shoulders.”

          “I don’t have a thing,” defended Diana. “It’s good for intimidating someone if you’re specific about where you’ll shoot them.”

          “I’ve seen you–”

          “Lock,” Diana stopped him.

          Sherlock shrugged and returned to his shredded target.

          “He’s definitely dead,” John said, “but next time, try fewer bullets.”

          “Get a new target,” Diana instructed.

          Sherlock kept shooting.

          Diana’s phone rang. “Can you stop for a second?” She asked before answering.

          John put down his gun. Sherlock continued to fire.

          “Hello?” she said into the phone heading to the exit.

          “Diana, I – are those gunshots?” Peter asked concerned.

          “Calm down. I’m at a range.” She made it outside the soundproof walls. “Sorry, go ahead.”

          “I haven’t found anything yet,” Peter said. “Whoever this man is, somebody wants him safe. But I’m looking.”

          “Thanks.”

          “You’re shooting with this detective friend of yours?”

          “Yes.”

          Peter hesitated. “Is he a detective for Scotland Yard or the local police?”

          “Sometimes,” said Diana.

          Peter waited.

          Diana said, “He’s a consulting detective.”

          Peter sighed. “The police don’t know about this case at all, do they?”

          “No,” said Diana. “Boss?”

          “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Peter.

          “Is there anything left?”

#

          Sherlock and John waited by a flat. A man in his late sixties opened the door.

          “Nathan Garrideb?” Sherlock said. “I’m Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague Dr Watson.”

          “Yes.” The older man beckoned them into a large, yet cluttered, living room. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m sorry if I caused a misunderstanding with Jack. It didn’t occur to me that he’d mind.”

          “He seems fine now,” John assured him.

          “That’s good,” Nathan said. “Sit. Tell me how the search goes.”

          Sherlock and John cleared spaces to sit on the sofa and sat down.

          “I haven’t found another Garrideb yet,” Sherlock said, “but I am looking.”

          “Thank you,” said Nathan.

          John looked around the crowded room. “Will you move to America,” he asked, “if this comes through?”

          “Oh, no.” Nathan sat down across from them. “I rarely ever leave home. I certainly wouldn’t want to go all that way.”

          John’s brow furrowed. “Then why are you interested?”

          “Jack promised me he’d buy me out.” Nathan smiled. “I don’t care for land in America, but I’m not going to turn down millions of pounds.”

          “Has it occurred to you that this could be a scam?” John said.

          “Of course it did.” Nathan bristled. “I thought of it. I just don’t see what it could be about.” He shrugged. “I don’t have much money, nor do I own anything valuable.”

          “It is unusual,” agreed Sherlock. “Do you have a job?”

          Nathan shook his head. “I’m retired.”

          “Any important friends or relatives?” asked Sherlock.

          “I don’t have friends,” said Nathan. “My relatives are dead. As I said, I don’t leave the flat.”

          “What?” said John. “Not ever?”

          “Not really, no.”

          The doorbell rang.

          Sherlock said, “Expecting other guests?”

          “No,” Nathan said as he headed to open the door.

          Jack Garrideb stood on the other side smiling broadly.

          “Jack, come in,” said Nathan. “Mr Holmes and his colleague are here.”

          He stepped half in the room and shouted, “I’ve found our last Garrideb!”

          “Really?” asked Nathan.

          “Look at this ad.” Jack held up a newspaper. “A contact in Birmingham sent it to me.”

          The advertisement ran:

                   Garrideb Landscaping

                   See Howard Garrideb for

                   all your landscaping needs!

                   Clean-ups Mowing Mulching

                   Maintenance Plowing Fencing

          “Wonderful!” said Nathan. “We’ve found our third.”

          Jack nodded. “I thought it would be best if you went and saw him tomorrow.”

          “You want me to see him?” asked Nathan. “But that means an overnight trip.”

          “I thought he would be more accepting of the news coming from you,” said Jack, “rather than from a newly arrived American.”

          “We could go together?” Nathan suggested hopefully.

          “We could,” said Jack, “but that would mean quite a delay.”

          “Why?” asked Nathan. “Has something happened?”

          “I’m afraid urgent business concerns with my practice demand I return home tonight. I’ve just stopped here on my way to the airport.”

          “You’re leaving the country?” Nathan said alarmed.

          “Only for a few days,” Jack soothed, “maybe a week. So if you insist, wait we can. I assumed you’d want this settled as soon as I do. Considering how much I’ve already done, one day trip seems small enough.”

          “He has a point,” said Sherlock.

          “All right, all right,” said Nathan. “I’ll go.”

          “Excellent!” said Jack. “As I said, I have to go. I’ll see you all again soon.”

          “We’ll walk out with you,” Sherlock offered and the three men left the flat together.

#

          “Excuse me, Ms Saunders,” Diana said to the flats’ landlady in a perfect Manchester accent. “Do you have a moment?”

          “Yes.” Ms Saunders beckoned her into the office. “How can I help you?”

          “I’m Professor Berrigan.” Diana took in the chair in front of the desk. “I’m researching Georgian buildings and yours is an excellent example of the type.” She smiled. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about it.”

          “You’re the second person who’s asked about this building,” Ms Saunders said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much about the history.”

          “Do you remember the other person’s name?” asked Diana. “Ours is a small field, I might know them.”

          “He was an American, I remember,” offered Ms Saunders, “but I can’t recall the name. Wanted to look at the original blueprints. Of course, I didn’t have them.”

          “Was this recently?” asked Diana. “My paper may have competition.”

          “I doubt it,” said the landlady, “not if nothing’s come of it yet. This was getting on five years ago.”

          “You must have a remarkable memory.”

          “I only know because it was a bit after poor Mr Prescott was killed. Roger Prescott,” said Ms Saunders. “He was an American too, you know, so it stuck in my mind. He lived here for years, always such a nice lodger. Then he goes and gets himself stabbed in a pub.”

          “I am sorry,” said Diana.

          “Yes, but it’s all right,” said Ms Saunders. “The one who took his place is even quieter. Mr Garrideb never leaves his rooms. No worry of him ever being in a pub brawl.”

          “About the blueprints –”

          “I am sorry,” said Ms Saunders. “This gossip’s not much help for your history, is it?”

          “No, no, it’s fine,” assured Diana. “I was wondering where the blueprints might be.”

          “Gone for good, I’d think.”

          “Too bad. I may come back to take pictures of the outside, if you don’t mind?”

          “Go ahead. Let me know if you want to see the inside and I’ll see what I can do about talking to the tenants.”

          “Thank you,” Diana said. “I may take you up on that.”

#

          “Obviously,” Sherlock said, “the plan is to get Nathan Garrideb out of his flat.” He and John stood by the kitchen table. “The ad is false.”

          John shook his head.

          “What?” said Sherlock. “Surely you noticed the American spelling of ‘plow’ in the advertisement?”

          “How could I miss that after ‘pajamas’?” said John. “What I don’t get is why. Nathan Garrideb doesn’t have anything worth all this effort.”

          “The previous tenant did,” Diana said as she came in the door. “The landlady said he was an American, Roger Prescott, who died in a bar fight. He was also a successful counterfeiter.”

          “I see,” said John. “You think Prescott hid some of the money in the flat?”  
          “Saunders said another American came by right after Prescott’s death asking for blueprints to the building.”

          Sherlock said, “That suggests something more than a wall safe.”

          “She offered to let me look around the building,” said Diana.

          Sherlock said, “We can go in after Nathan leaves.”

          “Catch Jack in the act?” asked John.

          “Exactly.”

          Diana’s phone rang.

          “Peter?” she answered. “I think this is about Roger Prescott…Wait, I’ll put you on speaker.” She set the phone on the table. “Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are here.”

          “Right, well the print you gave me to run belongs to John Winter, alias Morecroft, alias ‘Killer’ Evans.

          “Killer Evans?” John said disbelievingly.

          “He shot three men in Chicago, but was pardoned,” Peter said from the phone. “He moved to London where five years ago he stabbed his ex-partner Roger Prescott. Official records state Prescott started the fight and that Evans acted in self-defence.”

          “We think he wants something from Prescott’s old apartment,” said Diana.

          “Rumour was Prescott made perfect small bills,” said Peter. “Prescott didn’t want to get involved in murder, so when Evans killed those men, Prescott moved to London and set up his press not realizing Evans would get out so soon.”

          “So, Evans killed Prescott,” said John, “but he didn’t know where the counterfeiting set up was.”

          “And by the time he found out,” Sherlock concluded, “his flat was already occupied by Nathan Garrideb, the man who never leaves.”

          “Why not just kill Garrideb?” said John. “Why go to all this trouble?”

          “Evans has a code,” said Peter. “He won’t kill civilians. You realize you three do not fall in this category. He won’t have any problem killing you.”

          “Agent Burke,” said Sherlock, “I assure you we are all more than capable of handling ourselves.”

          “Regardless, you will involve the authorities,” said Peter. “I’m going to call them and recommend you do as well.”

          Sherlock frowned at the phone.

          “We will,” promised John.

          “Bye, boss,” said Diana.

          “Be careful,” Peter said before he hung up.

          “How tiresome,” said Sherlock. “John, call Lestrade, would you?”

#

          Diana worked her lock picks in Nathan Garrideb’s door.

          “Hello there?” A voice called from down the hall. “Professor Berrigan are you around?”

          Diana handed the picks to Sherlock. “Ms Saunders,” she said. “I’ll keep her out of here. You two be smart.”

          “Sure thing, professor,” John teased.

          Sherlock shushed him as the door opened.

          They crouched behind a sofa. “Now we wait,” Sherlock said.

          They didn’t wait long before Evans entered the room.

          Sherlock stopped John as he made to stand. “I want to see where it is.”

          Evans shoved a table across the floor and rolled back the carpet.

          A few minutes with a crowbar and he opened enough space to fit through. He moved down as if climbing a ladder.

          Sherlock nodded his head and he and John approached the new hole in the floor.

          They stood over it. The light of the living room and Evans torch illuminated the corner of a printing press in a small room.

          “Mr Garrideb,” said Sherlock. “Or should I say, Killer Evans?”

          The man looked up at the barrel of John’s gun.

          “Come out of there,” John instructed. “Slowly.”

          Evans climbed up a small ladder shaking his head and smiling his wide grin. “Guess I know when I’m beat. I must confess, Sherlock, I didn’t realise –”

          He whipped out a gun.

          Two shots fired.

          Evans slumped forward and fell back down the ladder.

          Diana lowered her gun and straightened her pose in the doorway.

          Ms Saunders ran into the room and stalled when she saw Diana’s gun.

       “Professor Berrigan?” she asked.




          “Special Agent,” Diana corrected stepping up to John. “Are you all right?”

          “Yes, of course,” John said.

          Diana pointed with the hand not holding the gun. “You are bleeding,” she said.

          John looked down at his leg. “Oh.”

          Sherlock pushed him towards a chair.

          “I’m fine,” said John. “It’s just a scratch.”

          Sherlock ripped the hole in John’s jeans wider exposing a small section of grazed skin.

          “Hey!” complained John. “I like these.”

          “You’re right.” Sherlock said standing. “It barely grazed you.” He looked back to the hole in the floor.

          “He’s dead,” Diana assured.

          Footsteps sounded in the hall.

          She whispered to John, “Give me your gun.”

          John nodded and handed it over. She flicked the safety on and slid it in her jacket before Lestrade and Donavan ran into the room.

          Diana left Sherlock hovering over John. “Agent Berrigan,” she said. “I believe my boss called you.”

          “Yes,” said Lestrade. “What’s happened?”

          “That man shot Dr Watson. I shot him.”

          “It’s just a graze,” John said walking towards them. “I’m fine.”

          “John, sit back down,” said Sherlock. “It at least needs to be cleaned. I’ll get a doctor.” He ran out the door.

          “I can do that at home,” John called after him. “And I am a doctor, remember?”

          Lestrade shook his head at them and led away a very pale Ms Saunders.

          “Might as well sit,” Diana said to John. “Won’t hurt to put some gauze on that.”

          “Fine.” John sighed and sat down. “All this is going to achieve is me getting blood on nice Mr Garrideb’s furniture.”

          Sally Donavan pushed past Diana to stand over John. “Told you, didn’t I?” she said. “Freak’s dangerous.”

          Diana swung and Sally was on the floor.

          “Sorry about that,” said Diana. “You should really be more careful.”

          Donavan scrambled to her feet.

          “Do you need help finding your way out?” Diana called after Sally as she rushed out of the room holding a hand to her bleeding nose.

          Diana turned back to John with a smile.

          He was staring.

          “Not good?” she asked.

          “Bit not good, yeah,” John answered then he smiled too.

          Sherlock came back in the room with a first aid kit.

          “Did you steal that?” John asked.

          “Borrowed,” Sherlock answered. “Did you make Donavan cry?”

          Diana snorted.

          John laughed and pulled out the supplies he needed and bandaged his leg.

          The crime scene technicians began to trickle into the room.

          Sherlock said, “I thought we couldn’t giggle at crime scenes.”

          “Then let’s go home.” John stood.

          “Good,” said Diana. “You two need to find something for me to do the rest of the week.”

THE END


End file.
